a tale of trevor
prince, prisoner, puke machine
Oh that kitty boy, that cat of mine - Trevor.
He’s a prince of a tabby.
Beefy, strong and loyal, one couldn’t ask for a better pet.
Except…
Except he gets anxious when the people aren’t around.
And when he gets anxious he has trouble peeing.
After that?
Crystals.
After that?
Trevor goes to spend the night at the cat hospital and my prospects of buying a new bicycle become more dim.
I like to spoil Trevor.
He’s an indoor cat who’d rather be ouside.
We keep him inside so he can’t do what he was born to do: Piss in the neighbours gardens and kill cardinals.
I know, I’m mean by not allowing him to satisfy his blood lust.
And though I have one neighbour whose garden I’d be happy if Trevor tore up, I have a few others who I like enough to preserve their daffodils.
So Trevor is a bit of a prisoner.
As a prisoner he gets supervised yard time.
Sometimes he chases leaves. Other times, I play with sticks that he chases along the ground. It’s a fun game for him to satisfy the ya ya’s that come from having the instincts to kill
As his guard I have a couple of major responsibilities.
One: Don’t let him kill the chickens.
I’m not sure that he will but I’m also not sure that he wont.
Most days he ignores them. Some days though, he struts over and wickers at them in their enclosure. I’m sure he’s saying something really nasty and unrepeatable lest I end up tried for war crimes at the Hague so I will not even attempt to translate.
Next, I need to make sure he doesn’t leave the yard.
That’s easy just as long as I pay attention to him and him alone.
Most difficult of all though?
Making sure he doesn’t eat grass.
Because in addition to having an anxiety disorder, my cat is bulimic.
Yesterday he ate a lot of grass after having dinner.
The first two vomits were mostly viscous bile with long blades of grass in them.
The third and fourth?
Well…
They were like extra large pancakes except the batter wasn’t batter, it was undigested cat food pumped from his guts with a repetitive squeak.
He loves to eat.
But even more than that?
He loves to puke.
It’s an odd thing spending time protecting my cat from himself because I get it.
People have tried to do the same for me, but like Trevor, I’m often more than happy to make a puke pancake outta my life.
Luckily, we live with dogs who are more than happy to lick up Trevor’s mess.
I wonder who has found delight in licking up mine?
